Sunday, 28 February 2016


I woke up this morning unable to hear. I've felt the wax building up in my ears for some time but think the cold I had a week ago has somehow dislodged it. Noises were echoing inside my head almost as though the sounds were reverberating in a cavity between my ear drum and the wax itself. A year or so ago, Nathan, who has always had problems with his ears, discovered a rather special NHS walk-in clinic in Parson's Green where they do syringing, and fortunately it's open on Sunday mornings, so we immediately hot-footed it over there.

I turns out that my Eustachian tubes are blocked, and that there's no issue with wax whatsoever. Apparently they'll clear by themselves, which is a shame because I love having my ears syringed. The warm water. The clicking. The rush of treble as the wax and water dissipate...

Before I forget, I must take this opportunity to put the record straight on a statement I wrote in my blog last night. I rather blithely mentioned that I wished the producers of our show had invited CND activists to see the piece. It turns out they have. In fact, they've been hugely thorough in their efforts in this regard. So there. I apologise for any offence caused.

From Parson's Green we drove due East to Philippa's house in Columbia Road where we spent a much-needed, very charming couple of hours playing with my god children, making scones, eating scones, cutting shapes out of play dough, and painting. I appreciate that I tend to write about nothing other than being ill and eating on this blog, so today's entry is like a mega-cliche!

Philippa's writing career is really taking off. I'm so thrilled for her. She has two feature films which will be released next year and has so much writing work she's booked up for a year! It's time for me to get an agent. My last one didn't feel equipped to represent me in telly work, so it felt a bit silly to continue our relationship! So many of the problems we had on Beyond the Fence would have been fixed by having an agent. Everything becomes so much less personal. I've always longed to tell someone who's being a bit tricky to "talk to my agent." It's the polite version of "talk to the hand..." My mate Matt always tells me I need an agent when the shite hits the pipe!

It is blissful to have a day off. This is the first day we've had off with nothing hanging over us for four months! Imagine that?!

I've come home to watch the Voice with Nathan. My mate Harry has tipped me off that there's a trans performer singing Kate Bush on it, which, let's face it, is my idea of heaven!

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